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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955509">The Faceless Portrait</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corny_Cornflakes/pseuds/Corny_Cornflakes'>Corny_Cornflakes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Secrets, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:14:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corny_Cornflakes/pseuds/Corny_Cornflakes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Formentera, 1760. The painter Sergio Marquina is commissioned to paint the wedding portrait of a young woman named Raquel Murillo, who is to be married off to a Barcelonian nobleman. However, he is soon informed that she refuses to pose as she disapproves of the marriage, forcing him to find a different way to bring her onto the canvas. As time passes by, they recognize how much they have in common, and feelings neither expected begin to blossom.</p><p>Based on the movie "Portrait of a Lady on Fire".</p><p>[ON A BREAK]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guess who's back, back again...</p><p>First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my absence in the past month. I already explained my reasons on Twitter, but for those who don't know: I needed a break to focus on my mental health and find my inspiration to write again. I lost it due to feeling discouraged by the decreasing feedback in the past two months. However, a lot of my readers and dear friends reassured me that they still enjoy and look forward to my stories. So thank you for being the best audience I could have asked for because I wouldn't have done it without you. Writing is my passion, something I can't imagine living without, and I'm so happy that I get to share it with you. This fandom manages to put a smile on my face every day, and I will be forever grateful for it.</p><p>Furthermore, I would like to gift this story to my friend Martina who's going through a tough time at the moment, and to my favorite cheerleader Rheana, who will celebrate her birthday in two days! I hope from the bottom of my heart that you will both enjoy it. </p><p>And, as always, a big thank you to the spectacular and irreplaceable Meg, who continues to be the best proofreader I could have ever asked for. Love you!</p><p>With that being said, enjoy my latest creation (and first attempt at a slow burn)!</p><p>P.S.: If you have any story requests, feel free to send them to me on Twitter @CrnyCrnflakes or write a comment.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Barcelona, 1761</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eight pairs of eyes laid upon him in utter silence, taking in every shape and color they could see. They lingered on him for seconds, though it felt rather like minutes, as he sat absolutely still. Only his chest rose and fell with every shallow breath he took.</p>
<p>"First, my contours."</p>
<p>The same moment he said those words, the gazes dropped onto the sheets below them, and the sound of pencil scratching on paper filled the room. He used the opportunity to relax his shoulders and exhale deeply.</p>
<p>"The outline."</p>
<p>Every once in a while, the eight men shot him a glance just to confirm the lines they drew were pleasing to him. However, he noticed that the youngest's hands trembled when their eyes locked.</p>
<p>"Not too fast."</p>
<p>The man he recognized as Señor Cortez dropped his hand in an instant and panic invaded his eyes. To calm him down, he nodded slowly as a sign of reassurance.</p>
<p>"Take time to study me."</p>
<p>And so the young man did, to his slight discomfort. He made a mental note to give his model a good talking to for bailing on him at the last moment and leaving the job to him.</p>
<p>"See how my arms and hands are placed."</p>
<p>One rested on the chair rest, the other on his thigh. He wanted to sit in a more artistically challenging position, but knowing his students and the future assignments they would get, he opted for a more classic pose - though with some reluctance.</p>
<p>Not a single word was spoken for the next minute, the focus returning to the purpose of the class alone. However, the pencils gradually halted, one after another, all eyes fixated on him once more. Instead of curiosity, confusion was painted across their faces this time around.</p>
<p>Sergio changed. His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, breathing rapidly and irregularly, his fingers digging into the wood and his skin. He was staring at something in the back of the room.</p>
<p>"Who brought that painting out?"</p>
<p>With that, all heads turned to see what resulted in such a strong reaction from the usually calm and composed teacher.</p>
<p>Señor Cortez slowly rose his hand, which was trembling once more. "I brought it from the storage closet. I shouldn't have?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>The man seated next to him, whose name he didn't have the opportunity to learn, seemed to grow particularly interested in it. "Did you paint it?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>Sergio couldn't divert his eyes away from the painting, no matter how hard he tried. In fact, he didn't want to. His mind just kept on telling him that it would be the right thing to do. But he didn't do it. He drank in the painting which his very own hands had once created, completely mesmerized, as if he had seen it for the first time in his life, not in a year.</p>
<p>The colors around the edges were dark shades of grey and blue. It was a starless night sky, the thick clouds covering it and only allowing the moon to shine through. But it wasn't the only source of light. In the middle of the bleak field stood a woman. She wore a dress the color of the sky, its fabric on fire. The flames rose from the hem of the skirt, gradually reaching higher as if trying to touch the clouds, and the woman wasn't bothered by them. It seemed as if they belonged there, and as if she wanted the dress to burn, although her face didn't indicate such a thing. Well, she didn't have a face in the first place. It was shielded by a hat from the onlookers, with the exception of him. He knew who she was. </p>
<p>"I painted it a long time ago," Sergio added, at last, a break to the uneasy silence that had settled. His throat was painfully dry by then.</p>
<p>"What's the title?" another of the men asked, turning back around to look at him.</p>
<p>"Portrait of a Lady on Fire."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Mediterranean Sea, 1760</em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The wind had become the orchestral conductor of the sea, sending waves into their crescendos all through the ballad that was the cloudy sky. Waves peaked and crested, yet always there, rising and falling. They filtered the sunlight, the hue of the water ever changing but always familiar -  always crystal clear blue. The scent of the salty water encircled them, bringing back memories which summoned the tiniest smile across his face.</p>
<p>Yet, Sergio had never wished for land so much, to feel the brown sugary soil beneath his feet. The wild sea rocked the small boat holding six men from side to side, the wind and waves helping them along. Sergio had never been afraid of water, he had traveled on it for most of his life, but those circumstances differed from his annual trips to Italy. He held tightly onto the sides of the flat wooden box before him, for its content was too precious to end up soaked, and it solely depended on one rope.</p>
<p>However, some minutes later, the wind began to cease, and so did his concern. Sergio allowed himself to loosen up and lean back as he resumed to admire the view. When he looked over his shoulder, he could already spot the hills of Formentera rising above the horizon. That would be his home for the upcoming week, one he would have to learn to grow familiar with.</p>
<p>A sudden wave, more powerful than those previous, crashed against the boat which forced him to turn back around just in time for him to witness that the box fell into the water. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly fell open in shock, and then he cursed under his nose as he realized that there was only one thing he could do. That is all it took, what one second of rationale led to... the inevitable.</p>
<p>Sergio stood up before he would change his mind and shed his chestnut colored brown coat. It caught the attention of the men rowing, but he didn't care. He jumped into the water, not feeling the stark contrast between the temperatures at first. But once he rose above the surface and gasped, it hit him all at once.</p>
<p>A shiver ran down his spine, goosebumps formed all over his skin, and his teeth clattered against each other. Freezing wasn't a word enough to describe how he felt at that moment. Nonetheless, he forced himself to move his limbs and swim towards the box before it could drift even further away.</p>
<p>However, the closer he got, the more difficult it became to reach it. The layers of clothing clung to his body were pulling him down, the waves were pushing him back, and he barely had any energy to keep on moving. But eventually, he could stretch his arm out just enough for it to grasp the edge of the wood and bring it toward him.</p>
<p>The way back to the boat turned out to be less challenging with the waves accompanying him, although he now had to drag the box with him. He swung it over the edge of the boat, then pulled himself up and over, landing on the dry wood as well. He would have sighed with relief if his jaw still wasn't quivering.</p>
<p>So much for a pleasant journey on the sea, he thought to himself as he hung his coat over his shoulders and hugged the box to his body. He only prayed that he wouldn't catch a cold.</p>
<p>Thank goodness it only took them approximately one more hour to arrive at the coast of the seemingly secluded island. No houses or any signs of life were to be spotted as far as the eye could see. The entire landscape consisted of nothing but cliffs, overgrown foliage, and a few trees off in the distance.</p>
<p>Sergio began to wonder whether they had reached the correct destination as he stepped off the boat and onto the shore. It wasn't even remotely what he had expected when he was told he would stay at a mansion on Formentera. He could only imagine thieves and outcasts living in such a place.</p>
<p>One of the rowers helped him get his bag and the box off the boat and placed them right before his feet and onto the wet sand. Great, now not only would he have to carry them on his own but clean them as well. Sergio would have pointed it out to him if there wasn't something entirely different occupying his mind at that moment.</p>
<p>"Where do I go?"</p>
<p>The rower looked up at him and gestured east. "Head straight up towards the trees," he answered absent-mindedly, then returned to the boat without any farewell. All Sergio could do was watch as they swam away, leaving him alone to his fate. But shortly after, he turned his head towards the hill the man had pointed at. The mere thought of climbing it with his baggage made him gulp.</p>
<p>However, he had no other choice.</p>
<p>Sergio swung the bag over his shoulder, the box underneath, and let his feet carry them up the rocky path, but not without a struggle. His muscles soon ached as if they were on fire, his body produced sweat despite the low temperature, and he panted heavily. He should have stayed in Milan, he thought to himself, because the payment he would receive for this job didn't seem high enough anymore as the conditions he had to endure became worse by the minute.</p>
<p>To his relief, he could soon see red bricks of a roof appearing behind the layers of leaves, white walls following right after. So he had the right address after all.</p>
<p>Once he arrived before the mansion, which was, in fact, much bigger than he had expected, he knocked on the blue door twice and waited. It didn't take long until he heard a key turn in the lock and being extracted again.</p>
<p>This was it.</p>
<p>Sergio took one last deep breath to calm his nerves when a young woman opened the door. She had a wide and polite smile plastered on her face, but it wasn't the first thing he had noticed. Instead, his focus drifted to her dirty and modest clothes and loose, light blonde curls. It couldn't have been <em>her.</em></p>
<p>"Good evening. I'm Monica Gaztambide." His speculations were confirmed when the woman revealed her name. He assumed she must have been the servant.</p>
<p>"Señor Marquina." It was all he managed to say as the presence of women still tended to leave him at a lack of words, and she further opened the door and stepped to the side to allow him to enter. The sun had already set by then, so he couldn't see anything but darkness inside. Luckily, Monica held a lit candle and guided him to where he assumed he could dispose of his things.</p>
<p>They ascended stairs that loudly creaked beneath their every step eventually having to turn left down a hallway. At the end of it, Monica stopped abruptly and took a keychain out of the pocket of her apron. Sergio was left waiting for quite some time as the door didn't seem to open. The lock must have been old and rusty, the result of rarely being used. But eventually, the servant managed to push it open just as he was about to offer his help, and they entered the room.</p>
<p>His intuition was correct once more. The room didn't seem to have been used by anyone in years. It contained nothing but large windows stretching from the floor to ceiling, some furniture covered by white sheets, and a fireplace, which the servant hurried to light. In the meantime, Sergio used the opportunity to look around and put his baggage down.</p>
<p>"It was a reception room. I've never seen it used," Monica suddenly said as she stepped away from the now lit fireplace. She must have been the kind of person who couldn't stand long periods of silence, Sergio figured and searched for something to ask her - he didn't want to come across as impolite on his first day.</p>
<p>"Have you been here long?"</p>
<p>"Three years."</p>
<p>He took off his coat, which had also soaked through because of his wet shirt. "Do you like it here?"</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>As quickly as the conversation began, it also came to an end. Sergio stood in the middle of the room, his arms hanging to his sides, his lips formed into a forced smile. The servant must have sensed his discomfort because she pointed at the door they entered through, then headed toward it. "I'll let you get dry."</p>
<p>The very moment he was finally alone, his fingers immediately launched to unbutton his shirt and pull his pants down. He had dreamt of doing just that ever since he jumped into the freezing water. It was cathartic.</p>
<p>Sergio discarded his clothes in no time, not even leaving his underwear on, and carefully placed them on the free shelf above the fire. He estimated that they should be dry by the morning. Having done that, he moved on to the wooden box, which he had shoved into a remote corner and sat down with it in front of the fireplace. He used his own fingers to pull the nails out of the top covering, cutting himself in the process. But he didn't care. What concerned him more was seeing the two canvases he brought completely soaked through - not that he was surprised. However, his purpose on this island would be nothing without them, so he set them up to dry as well, praying the material wouldn't be damaged.</p>
<p>Now all that was left for him to do was to light the cigar he kept hidden in the inner pocket of his coat and observe as the fire worked its magic. He inhaled the smoke, letting it fill his lungs and loosen him up after the long day he had. Oh, how he yearned that.</p>
<p>He could finally enjoy the joyous flames dancing like gypsies at a festival, so free and careless. He wished to have a sheet of paper and a piece of chalk so he could immortalize the view on paper. But his memories would have to do.</p>
<p>Sergio didn't know how much time he had spent staring at the roarous flames when he heard his stomach grumble. He thought it was the wood crackling at first, but then he remembered that he hadn't had a single morsel of food in two days.</p>
<p>Quickly getting dressed in the first clothes he grabbed from his bag, he fetched a candle and started to explore the mansion in search of the kitchen. It wasn't a difficult task - it was just down the stairs to the left, and he had seen a glimpse of it when Monica illuminated the way to the stairs.</p>
<p>Seeing that it wasn't occupied by anyone, Sergio allowed himself to enter and rummage through the cupboards. The mere thought of eating a decent meal made his mouth water - he was starving by then. But to his luck, he found a loaf of bread and a piece of white cheese. <em>Excellent.</em></p>
<p>He took a clean plate and sat down by the large table in the middle of the kitchen, immediately launching to devour the food. It wasn't the best he had ever had, but it would do. At least it would still his hunger until the next day.</p>
<p>However, he soon was no longer alone. All of a sudden, he heard footsteps approaching him and could feel the color drain from his face - he must have been white as chalk. His eyes and his mouth were frozen wide open in an expression of stunned surprise, and he almost choked on the bread he tried to swallow. He felt like a hooligan caught by a strict teacher.</p>
<p>"Sorry, I helped myself. I was hungry," Sergio hurried to justify himself, instantly dropping the food onto the plate. He wasn't sure whether what he was doing was prohibited, nor could he see who it was, but he decided to play it safe.</p>
<p>"Do you want wine?" He already knew the voice - it was the servant. For some reason, he felt relieved. The situation would have been much more uncomfortable if it were someone else. If it were </p>
<p>"Yes, please."</p>
<p>Sergio heard as Monica poured wine into a glass and only got to look at her once she placed it before him. So the mistress had allowed him to eat at unscheduled times.</p>
<p>"May I be curious?" Sergio suddenly asked, catching the servant's attention once more. "What is your mistress like?"</p>
<p>It was the question that had haunted his mind since the very moment he received the job offer. He didn't know a single thing about her - apart from her name and place of residence, of course.</p>
<p>"I don't know her well."</p>
<p>Sergio frowned. "You've been here for three years."</p>
<p>"She only arrived a few weeks ago," Monica revealed, giving him a side glance.</p>
<p>"Where from?"</p>
<p>"The Benedictines."</p>
<p>That was odd. Women rarely got to leave such institutions if not for a valid reason, and Sergio began to wonder what her reason could be. "She has left holy orders?"</p>
<p>"They brought her home because her sister died."</p>
<p><em>Oh.</em> His brain stuttered for a moment, but he quickly connected the dots. "She was the one due to marry?"</p>
<p>Monica didn't say anything, but there was no need because her eyes already told him that the answer was 'yes'.</p>
<p>"Did disease take her?"</p>
<p>She shook her head - it seemed that she didn't want to elaborate on that. But then, she sighed and gave him a calculating look.</p>
<p>"Will you manage it?"</p>
<p>The question caught him off guard. "Manage what?"</p>
<p>"To paint her."</p>
<p>He still couldn't quite understand. It was his job, the reason for his arrival. He wouldn't have been hired if his talent would have been questioned by the mistress. "Why do you ask?"</p>
<p>"Another painter was here. He wasn't able to."</p>
<p>"What happened?"</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>Sergio didn't push the topic as he saw that she was telling the truth. Besides, she had already walked out of the kitchen when he swallowed the piece of cheese he was chewing. His time in Formentera would be very interesting, he could already tell.</p>
<p>Once Sergio finished his meal - though it wasn't really worthy of being called ad such - he returned to his room and felt the exhaustion wash over him. But upon seeing the rather modest bed, he remembered the other pieces of furniture which were still left for him to uncover. It wasn't his priority, nor was it something that truly mattered to him at the moment. He could have left it for another time.</p>
<p>However, curiosity won over.</p>
<p>Sergio peaked underneath the sheets or tore them down to reveal what was hidden underneath, one after another. There were mostly old boxes, cupboards, and a pouf. But to his delight, he also found a cembalo and pressed a few keys. It was slightly out of tune, but it worked nonetheless. Perhaps he could refresh his skills if he would find some spare time.</p>
<p>Then, he moved on to uncover a Victorian mirror and froze the very moment he saw his reflection. His eyes were dark, and so were the circles underneath, his hair tousled and his beard untrimmed. He looked like a homeless man or castaway, but it wasn't what caught his attention. Behind him, in the small gap between the bed and the fireplace, he spotted a canvas which certainly wasn't his. He hadn't noticed it before.</p>
<p>With the inquisitive mind that he had, Sergio couldn't help but take a closer look at it. He carefully gripped its edge and extracted it, then turned it around and let it rest against the wall. It wasn't just any canvas - it was a painting depicting a woman in an emerald green dress, though unfinished. She didn't have a face. However, it wasn't on purpose, because he could tell by the light pencil strokes where it was supposed to be that the painter attempted to sketch it.</p>
<p>Sergio inhaled sharply. </p>
<p>
  <em>It must have been her.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Thursday, best fandom in the world!</p><p>First and foremost, thank you so much for the warm welcome! The positive feedback the first chapter has received swept me off my feet. Thank you all for putting a smile on my face! Every kudo and comment contributed to that &lt;3</p><p>This update came a little earlier than usual, please forgive me ;) I would also like to announce that I will from now on write slightly shorter chapters, but consequently, publish more frequently as well. That way it will be easier for me to stick to my schedule and not leave you hanging for too long. I hope you don't mind! </p><p>Also, I have to give a shout out to my dear friend and wife (😉) Jovana for taking a look at this chapter and offering me her advice. And, as always, a big thank you to the spectacular and irreplaceable Meg, who continues to be the best proofreader I could have ever asked for. Love you both!</p><p>With that being said, enjoy!</p><p>P.S.: If you have any story requests, feel free to send them to me on Twitter @CrnyCrnflakes or write a comment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The sun shone brightly through the large windows and directly into his eyes, forcing him to flutter them open. It took him a moment to adjust to the light and welcome it, though he found himself bringing the covers up to his face right after to shield himself from it. He felt as if in a daze, his head throbbing and his throat dry, not to mention the unfamiliar surroundings. Was he hungover?</p><p>No. He ran his hands over his face and groaned as the events of the day before flashed before his eyes - the boat, the mansion, the painting. It simultaneously felt so real and abstract that he actually began to wonder whether the one glass of wine he had consumed in the evening messed with his head. It would explain the painful pulsation in his frontal lobe. Although, on second thought, it could be due to the already late hour. Usually, he woke up with the sun, rising and laying to rest overlapping at the same cadence. And judging by how high on the sky it was, it must have already been around midday. Had he really slept for so long?</p><p>His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he heard a soft knock on the door. He could pretend that he was still asleep since he wasn't quite in a state to accept any guests, but he wasn't the type of man to do so either.</p><p>"Come in!"</p><p>Having received his approval, the door opened with a creak, and familiar heels clicked on the wooden floor. He didn't even bother to look up and confirm his suspicions as to who it was.</p><p>"Good morning, señor Marquina. I was told to bring you this."</p><p>However, Sergio soon enough was forced to greet the servant as she cleared her throat. He reluctantly removed the covers from his face and gave Monica a drowsy look, though his eyes instantly widened when he noticed what she held in her hands.</p><p>Like a moth drawn to a flame, he swung himself out of bed and walked towards her. The very same emerald green dress he had seen on the painting of the faceless woman was right before him, held high by the servant, free to touch and admire. He couldn't help but use the opportunity to let his fingers come in contact with the material. It wasn't of the best quality, most likely many years old and rather worn out, but it didn't matter on canvas.</p><p>"I'm afraid it's the only one," Monica said as she handed him the dress, noticing his puzzled expression. "She has no dresses yet and wears her convent clothes."</p><p>"She has blonde hair?" he inquired.</p><p>"Dark blonde."</p><p>Sergio contemplated for a moment, then answered with a half-smile: "This will do."</p><p>Assuming that their conversation came to an end, he nodded at the servant as a farewell and turned his back to her to set the dress aside. He carefully laid it down on the felt pouf, making sure it wouldn't come in contact with the grimy floor. However, when he turned back around, he noticed that she hadn't left - she remained standing in the door frame, her finger interlaced and rubbing the back of her palms as if to calm her nerves. "Señora Fuentes is already waiting for you in the living room."</p><p><em>Right.</em> He hadn't had the chance to greet the mistress' mother the day before, most likely due to the fact she was already asleep at the time he had arrived. He thanked the servant and closed the door behind her, then promptly dressed himself into more formal clothes and tried to smooth his hair - without much success.</p><p>As he descended the stairs and stepped into the spacious and palatially decorated living room, he immediately spotted an older woman in an elegant blue dress and white hair gathered in a bun, who was staring at something on the wall. He never doubted that they were a wealthy family, but he also began to suspect that they were nobility.</p><p>"Señora Fuentes?"</p><p>At the sound of her name, she finally turned to him and smiled, inviting him to come closer with a small gesture of her hand. He did just that, greeting her with a bow and positioning himself next to her. That was when he noticed that she had been staring at a painting before his arrival - her portrait. It must have been painted many years prior judging by her young features and darker hair. But what caught his attention even more so, was a signature in the bottom right corner, one he knew very well.</p><p>"Do you recognize it?"</p><p>Sergio nodded in awe and chuckled. "My father painted it."</p><p>"It's one of his first. It was painted in Barcelona, right before my marriage."</p><p>As much as the new piece of information shocked him, it also explained quite a lot. His last name was well known and held a prominent reputation amongst the artist community, though it was his more to his father's merit. And now that he discovered that their families had known each other for longer than he had presumed, he also realized the reason why he had been chosen for this commission.</p><p>"My daughter's suitor is from there. We'll go there if he likes the portrait," señora Fuentes proceeded to add with pride.</p><p>"You'll leave." He intended on asking, though it sounded more like a statement of fact.</p><p>With a sigh, señora Fuentes dropped her gaze, and he peeled his eyes away from the painting to look at her instead. "I have to tell you... she wore out a painter before you. In a very simple manner: she refused to pose. He never saw her face."</p><p>"Why won't she be painted?"</p><p>"My daughter refuses this marriage," she revealed, finally meeting his gaze with a pained expression. "You must paint her without her knowing. She thinks you're a companion for walks."</p><p>That took him aback. "A male companion?"</p><p>"Yes," she answered as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "She's delighted. Since she arrived, I haven't let her out."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"I wasn't cautious enough with her sister."</p><p><em>They brought her home because her sister died.</em> He suddenly remembered what the servant had told him the evening before, and judging by her unwillingness to reveal more and señora Fuentes' comment, he figured that her demise couldn't have been an accident. "She thinks I'll watch over her."</p><p>"And you'll observe her. Is painting her that way feasible?" With that, she turned her entire body to him and glanced at him expectantly.</p><p>"More than being a companion."</p><p>She scoffed, then chuckled. "I know that this is not the usual task of a painter like you."</p><p>Well, it wasn't as if he had the possibility to turn back at this point, he thought to himself and shrugged with a forced smile. However, señora Fuentes placed a hand on his shoulder as if sensing his helplessness and nodded in the direction of the painting, inviting him to look at it again.</p><p>"The portrait arrived here before me. When I first entered this room, I found myself facing my image hanging on the wall. She was waiting for me, and I had never smiled brighter than that day. I'm convinced that my daughter will be delighted by hers, as well. You're a Marquina, after all."</p><p>Would she? From what he knew so far, the mistress would feel the opposite of 'delighted' upon discovering that someone had won her trust under false pretenses just to work behind her back, so to speak. She had expressed her clear disapproval of being painted by anyone, no matter their name, origin, or reputation. "We'll see about that."</p><p>There was no mistake that señora Fuentes gulped and tensed with his statement. She must have agreed with what he said, despite her insistence for it to be otherwise.</p><p>"Could you do me one more favor?" she suddenly asked and continued when his eyes lit up with curiosity. "I don't know how much you know about her sister's fate, but don't bring it up under any circumstance. I want to protect her from getting such ideas."</p><p>"I promise I won't."</p><p>"We have an agreement, then," she grinned almost too widely and shook his hand with such force that it caused him to wonder whether her tactility was genuine or a simple trick to manipulate people to her liking. "It was a pleasure talking to you, señor Marquina. You may leave now."</p><p>"Thank you. The pleasure was mine."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Upon returning to his room after the rather fascinating meeting with the mistress' mother, Sergio theorized that he should start prepping an area where he could paint uninterrupted - or at least without anyone noticing he did so when they first entered. The dusty curtains which were curled into a heap below the windows turned out to be his way to go. He hung them all around the best-lit corner of the room, only leaving a small passage for him to freely walk through. Then, he put up an easel, adjusting it so the afternoon sun shone right at it, and placed one of the many boxes next to it to dispose of his paints and brushes on it.</p><p>And once he checked that he wouldn't be seen from outside and was satisfied with his set up, Sergio called the servant to ask her for a glass of water and put on an apron which covered him almost from head to toe. He didn't want to ruin his clothes, especially that he could only bring so little with him.</p><p>He thanked Monica for fulfilling his request once she had returned, and having nothing holding him back any longer, he put one of the blank - and luckily intact - canvases onto the easel. Next, he dipped his widest brush into the water and tawny brown paint and began to cover the cloth with it to achieve a base for him to sketch on.</p><p>A sketch. Sergio stared blankly at the now brown canvas, trying to project her onto it. Of course, it was impossible without having ever seen her - her contours, colors, eyes, smile. But once he would, he would have to base everything off of his perception. Would he be able to recreate her with only using his memory, which would solely consist of fleeting moments of movement and spontaneous actions? Could he find and pinpoint one which he would use as the guide of his brush?</p><p>His father's words echoed in his ears: <em>Don't direct the hand, let it direct you. Only then shall your heart have a say.</em> If he were right, all he would have to do was give his faith to no one else but himself. However, it was easier said than done.</p><p>Sergio sighed. It would surely be a challenge he hadn't faced before.</p><p>All of a sudden, a knock on the door startled him, not for the first time that day. But since there was now the risk of him getting caught by the one person who must not know of his real purpose at the mansion, he hurried to discard the apron and open the door himself.</p><p>To his relief, it was the servant, once again.</p><p>"She's waiting to go out."</p><p>"Come in." Sergio motioned her to enter further, then quietly closed the door behind her not for anyone to overhear them as it was crucial for what he would ask next. "Tell me, what happened to your previous mistress? How did she die?"</p><p>Monica's eyes widened in shock, possibly even panic. "I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to share this."</p><p>He should have seen that coming, he thought to himself, but there was no chance he would give up until he solved the mystery. "I promise not to tell anyone. I won't even tell it my own reflection."</p><p>Hesitation clouded her eyes, but something in the way she looked at him also told him that she craved to let it off her chest despite the gravity of the subject. "We were walking by the cliffs. She was behind me and vanished. I saw her dead body below."</p><p>"Did you see her fall?" he inquired in a whisper, although there was no need to.</p><p>She shook her head and frowned as if trying to recall that day. "No. I think she jumped."</p><p>"Why do you think that?"</p><p>"She didn't cry out."</p><p>He blinked a few times, lost in his own thoughts as his mind attempted to process the disclosure. Either both sisters weren't keen on marriage, or there was more to the unfortunate accident he would most likely never discover. One way or another, he understood why señora Fuentes insisted on not mentioning that tragic event. No parent wishes to attend their own child's funeral, let alone - twice. It must have shaken the entire family as it was something no one could prepare for, something that would have never even crossed their minds.</p><p>Unable to bring his mouth to open, Sergio dropped his head as a sign of gratitude and fetched his coat from the shelf above the fireplace. Luckily, it dried overnight, just like the remaining clothes.</p><p>He then let his arms slip into it as he walked out of the room, indifferent to whether the servant followed him or not. Something else occupied his mind at the moment instead, and he didn't mind anyone in his space as long as it wasn't <em>her.</em> Well, he wouldn't have minded her either if not for the promise he was forced to keep.</p><p>However, as he stood by the edge of the stairs, a feeling he couldn't quite identify invaded his body. It made his head spin, his throat dry, and he breathed in and out in an irregular pattern. He had never felt so uneasy before meeting anyone in his entire life, let alone be scared. That was what it was - fear. He feared descending the stairs as it would consequently make him face his undoubted fate.</p><p>This was it. He would greet señorita Murillo, accompany her on her daily walk, talk to her, <em>lie to her.</em></p><p>Perhaps this was what caused him to hesitate. Whatever connection they would build - if they even built one - would be based on a lie, on hiding crucial information from her. He would enter her life out of nowhere, pretending to be nothing more than a companion, and in a few weeks from now, she would enter her own living room and be faced with the portrait she had never wanted. Would she know that it was he who painted her? Would she recognize herself through his eyes? Would she feel as if he had stabbed her in the back?</p><p>He desperately shook his head as if it would make the questions vanish from his mind. It didn't, but at least he could pull himself together enough to place one foot before him and, step by careful step, descend the stairs. Their creaking was drowned out by the deafening pounding of his heart, and he leaned his head out over the edge of the wall so perhaps he could spot her before she did, giving him a head start.</p><p>And so he did.</p><p>His breathing hitched as he laid his eyes upon a figure in a midnight blue coat and hood over their head. Like a shield, it prevented him from catching even a glimpse at their face or any other feature. If he didn't know any better, he would assume they were a mythological creature visiting him in a dream or hallucination, which would vanish as soon as it appeared.</p><p>Nonetheless, he knew it was her. It must have been her, his gut was screaming it and shoving it in his face.</p><p>This was it. Sergio left the last step of the stairs, finally placing both his feet on the oak wood floor. Now all he would have to do was walk up to her, introduce himself, and explain the situation. It couldn't be so difficult, could it?</p><p>But just as he persuaded himself to move again, she walked away.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would love to know what you think! Kudos and comments are extremely appreciated. Also, feel free to comment in any language you want to :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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